Singing Through Bars
by Whyntir
Summary: Slit the throat of reason and reality. Wake up to this nightmare that will never end. A puppet of their sick perversions' appetite, will I be trapped inside this hell until I die? So make me your Deadman, stuck in your "Wonderland". Watch me bleed.
1. Welcome to the Birdcage

_Welcome, welcome to our little hide-away. Believe me; this place is deep under the radar, under the very foundation of this prison in fact! Welcome to a Wonderland of gruesome horrors: The Cadaver Carnivals! Held _

_once a week on this private station, pay a pretty penny and you too can be part of the hair-raising fun! Watch as your favorite contestants battle it out to the end! If the loser happens to live, however, do not miss the _

_gory After-Games performed by the lovely Dr. Natalya Arlovskaya. This offer is for a limited time only, so don't chicken out my little birds._


	2. Clipped Wings

The car rumbled along the empty road, not that he could see it anyway. There were no windows in the back, so he resorted to looking at his feet, which was probably the safest thing to do seeing his company were all convicts and one guard with a fucking machine gun across from him. Why did the guy stare at him with such an intense gaze? Seriously! The guy to his right was a kidnapper who evades authorities nationwide for seven years and on his left was a murderer who tortured his victims to death in the most gruesome ways known to man. The article wasn't graphic, but it did say the weirdo kept all the bodies in his closet. Maybe weirdo was a little too kind an insult in this situation. But the way the guard stared at him was as though he was the lowest of scum that ever reached earth!

His grip around the knapsack they had thrown at him tightened. He didn't do anything, he couldn't have. He was only seventeen damn it! Who in the right mind would even _suggest_ he _could_ do something like that! His parents, who would . . . his brother, so shy . . . His hand clamped over his mouth just in time as his stomach heaved empty bile. He hadn't eaten in days; he couldn't bring himself to do it. A sneer from beside him caught his attention and he turned to the Torturer who was looking down at him from the courner of his eye. He could see the mockery in the older man's cold eyes. That was just fucking wonderful. This guy could tell from just how he sat, hunched forward and small, that he was innocent! Damn it, if only his jury had been full of convicted criminals!

He stayed silent, only the rumbling of and swaying of the armored car over a shitty road to keep his mind off things he didn't want to remember, and dreams he wanted to forget. Damn his life. Mattie would have vouched for him . . . Mattie would have-!

* * *

><p><em>Stained red, bathed in crimson, mutilation and agony. Screams of anguish echo down the dark hall before strangling into desperate gurgles; fingers gripping tight around the neck and rupturing the windpipe, filling the lungs with blood. Laying on the ground, choking to death, his hand reaches out desperately.<em>

"_Al-fie . . ."_

* * *

><p>The sudden jolt of the car slamming to a stop knocked him out of the hazy, scarlet dream. He would have been thrown from the seat if the belt wasn't secured around his waist, though not he felt like someone just socked him a good one in the gut. The sound of keys rattled over the shell of the vehicle before the door was thrown open, blinding sunshine stinging his azure eyes after the long hours in the back, lit by only a single light in the ceiling.<p>

"Alright, get out and watch your heads," a guards from outside called. There were at least three silhouettes that he could discern through the glare. He undid the buckle, his skin underneath tender from bruising at the stop. He would feel that for a while. Standing up, the prisoner behind him roughly pushed against him, causing him to stumble forward, shackles around his ankles clattering loudly against the metal bottom.

"Hurry up kid, we can't wait all day," the man outside growled, becoming impatient. Slouching forward, holding the knapsack tightly against his chest, he made his way out into the light. As he suspected, there were a number of guards, all watching him in specific with great intent. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked, something wasn't right about this place. The moment his foot touched the ground he felt a wave of foreboding wash over him. A woman with short wheat-coloured hair tucked under a black, leather peak cap watched them; her steely blue eyes were hard and cold, looking over the three new arrivals with little interest, though the men on either side of him took much interest in her _"endowments"_. She wasn't the one who emanated the aura of dread that seemed to fill his entire being however.

Beside her, a man with messy vanilla hair stood, lackadaisical, with what appeared to be a lollipop stick in his mouth which was quirked in a lopsided smile. His eyes were pale gray, almost white, his pupils a black hole that absorbed all feeling, leaving him cold and numb. As their eyes connected, the smile widened in a dangerous way.

His slender fingers gripped the stick in an almost delicate way, as though he were thinking intently, eyes scanning over him, from his brown, shin-high boots to the grey prison jumpsuit and khaki backpack all the way up to his flaxen hair. It was as though he was admiring his newest product ad was extremely pleased, "It seems my shipment has arrived," the man spoke around the candy softly.

"Promoter?" she asked warily, giving the man a sideways glance. It was obvious that she had questions about him, hell; HE had some questions about this nutcase! Just the way he looked . . . it was hungry, starved.

He chuckled, pulling the lollipop from his mouth, the autumn wind blowing the pale hair, ruffling it like feathers, "Never mind me Captain, simply here to welcome the new prisoners to their home away from home. I'll leave you to your job Miss Katyusha." He turned lazily on his heels, hand resting lightly in his pocket as he walked off. He looked oddly pleased with himself, very pleased.

"Alright, attention you scum bags!" she shouted, making him jump, thoughts focused so intently on the peculiar man that he had almost forgotten she was there, "This is Deadman Wonderland, your new permanent residence and your final resting place. Any questions or concerns from you lot?"

"Yeah," the one who had been smiling at him during the ride called out, "Are those things real by any chance?"

"_Everything_ is real around here, and don't forget that," she barked, the riding crop in her hand snapping as she smacked it against the palm of her leather-shod hand. "Any _other_ questions?"

Alfred tentatively raised his hand, her cold eyes locking on him mercilessly, "H-how do things work around here?" He saw films from before the depression, when the prisons were overseen by the federal government, but still extremely dangerous. That and you aren't supposed to drop the soap or something like that. Still, what went on in a privately owned prison was a mystery to him and all those who never believed they would be sent to such a place.

"A schoolboy, how cute," she sneered, a cold smile gracing her features, "I suggest you all read the rulebooks in your bags the first chance you get and follow the rules. It's the only way you'll last long in here, _Alfred Jones_."

He hated this place already.


	3. Bitter Horizon

_**Deadman Wonderland:**__ One of many privately owned prisons that use its income to stimulate the American economy after the _**Second Great Depression**_ in 2014. Prisoners are used as _**unpaid labor**_ and _**entertainment** _for the tourists who arrive every day _**except Friday**_ to ride the carnival rides build by the prisoners and to watch in the various _**Dog Races** _where Wonderland Credits can be won._

_**Wonderland Credits:**__The prison has its own _**economy**_ made up of _**Wonderland Credits**_ which can be used for a number of things, such as _**buying meals**_, _**Candy**_, or even _**Freedom**_. If a prisoner can produce enough _**Credits**_ that are deemed by the _**Promoter**_ to sufficiently repay the prisoner's debt to society, they are __**released**__._

_**Candy:**__ Death Row prisoners are on a steady supply of _**poison**_, injected through the _**collars**_ placed around their neck. The poison kills the prisoner in a span of __**three days**__ unless the prisoner takes the _**antidote**_ in the form of a __**candy**__. While the taste is extremely _**bitter**_, it prolongs judgment of the prisoner for another three days. The _**first dose**_ can be found in the prisoner's issued _**bag** _and can be bought for _**100,000 Credits**.

His neck felt unnaturally bulky, the added three-or-so pounds was nothing to him, but it would be something he would need to get used to. It was hot; he was sweating under the sun with his jumpsuit half-open and tied around his waist. Blonde hair plastered to his forehead and a thin sheen of perspirations coating his upper lip and chest as he carried the metal bars over his shoulder. He had been out here all goddamn day, his back hurt, he felt hot, sticky with sweat. The guards watched him carefully, standing near each other with their guns slung over their shoulders as they whispered amongst themselves. Who the hell did they think they were? Looking and whispering at him as thought he was some creature, some monster on display. He tore his attention away from them, continuing on his way and finally depositing the heavy metal against the cluttered pile of other materials that would be used to make the new fucking ride. God, he hated hearing the rollercoaster in the distance, hated the cheers and calls of joy from the people who came to use them as entertainment. Such heartless fuckers, he wished they would just die!

* * *

><p><em>Choking . . . blood . . . laughter . . .<em>

"_Al-fie . . ."_

* * *

><p>He gasped slightly, falling out of that constant nightmare that never left him. Mattie . . . was that really what happened? Then why would he know anything about it? He didn't kill his brother. He didn't kill anyone. He couldn't. His hand covered his eyes and he bent forward, his empty stomach heaving futilely while he stemmed the stinging of salty tears, gasping for breath. How could anyone curse him to this place when he did nothing wrong? In his anger and pain, he did not notice the guards hurriedly check their watches before slipping away into the main building.<p>

Leaning the chrome bars against the rest of the materials needed for the new ride, Alfred leaned against the closest wall and wiped his brow, slipping his hand under the damp strands of hair, detaching them from his flushed skin. It was just about time to go and his body was sore from the labour; all he wanted to do was collapse in his bunk and sleep. Then again, sleep meant dreaming, and dreaming was something he didn't want to do. Every time he so much as _blinked_ he would be met with images he never wanted to imagine that made his stomach heave for that slight second while his appetite would be disrupted for hours afterwards. He had been in this place for a solid three days; it was still going to take some getting used to. He had just been given his cell number after going through the last two days of tests and checkups and resting in temporary boarding until he was finally secured into the system. Seventeen and he was one of the youngest on record from what he had glimpsed. However, he was the only one in that age group who would die on that record. All the others were selfish, sly, conniving, even dangerous, but he was the only one who was shown no mercy.

Pulling out a candy wrapped in bright, colourful paper, he looked down at it contemplatively. The summer sun was beginning to set, the sky engulfed in orange flames from the dying light. Only a few more hours until he started feeling the effects of the poison running through his veins and once that occurred, he had only a handful of minutes until he would lay dead, serving his sentence in one go. He could shatter the candy to keep from temptation, let himself die and be with his mother and father . . . And Mattie. Most of all Mattie: his sweet, shy, stuttering, blushing, laughing, snarky, moody older brother Mattie. He collapsed to his knees as a sob ripped through him, tears welling within his eyes and overflowing for the first time since the affair. He slouched forward, shoulders quivering and one metallic-tasting hand clasped to his mouth to stifle any more sounds from escaping his bleeding heart. Digging into the side pocket of his uniform where the candy had been kept, he pulled out the narrow, rectangular pair of glasses, red blood staining the lenses. He could see himself in their reflection, the view bulging and distorted. He was innocent. How could he ever hurt the one he loved the most?

"Oi, you alright?" a voice above him asked rather harshly. A young man with auburn hair and hooded hazel eyes looked down at his pitiful form hunched over in the gravel. A merciful cool breeze brushed through the courtyard and ruffled their hair in a brief flurry, a long wild hair with a gentle curl stood out from the rest of the locks, parted on the left. He wore a bright green uniform, signifying a different Block, and making it much harder for the likes of him to escape than it would be for someone like Alfred. The odds were, however, that he would simply be released in a few years. He looked mean, but not . . . not like everyone else.

The American dropped his eyes and slowly raised to his feet, wiping away the stray tears on the back of his hands. He looked pale, his freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks, though usually hidden by his tanned skin. He held the glasses tight, wanting nothing more than the owner to materialize out of the dust. No, he wasn't alright, wasn't that obvious! Who the hell asks that? He looked and felt FAR from _alright_. He felt like shit, hated life and all the people around him, and everything else. "I'm fine."

The young man looked around, he was shorter than the blonde, but had a more mature face with most of the baby fat gone, though he seemed to frown and pout more often than smile. "Well then, the guards are leading us back. If you don't want to be locked in the work yard for the night, I suggest you come with us. Something happened and your guards were called to some scene or another. I'm Lovino Vargas, B-Block."

"Alfred Jones, D-Block," he spoke in somber tones, cleaning at the lenses as though an odd obsession had washed over him. He bowed his head to hide his red eyes, embarrassment washing over him, yet shame and guilt were hidden in his eyes.

Lovino looked at him oddly, almost with an upturned nose, as though he were thinking of something disdainfully, "Well, are you coming?"

Alfred looked up, he didn't know what he had been expecting of the older man, but nodded. The blood on the glasses lenses were faded, but it caused a sort of panic to well inside him. It was as though Matthew was fading from him. The candy in his pocket was suddenly recalled to mind Hesitantly, he slipped the candy from his pocket, his morbid thoughts threatening to return.

"You're the kid on the news, yeah? The one who killed his entire family?"

"No!" Alfred shouted, louder than he intended, "I couldn't hurt them! Never! I loved my family, and you better fucking remember that!" He gripped the Italian by the collar of his jumpsuit, easily pulling him off his feet with one hand.

Panic welled in the green-brown eyes as hands clasped his wrist to keep from choking in his grip, still, he kept that cheeky speech pattern which came from years of life-threatening experiences, "Th-then why do you keep looking at that candy with that look of giving up? If you're not guilty, fight it damnit! And put me down bastard, you're killing _me_ here! Don't want to ruin your clean conscious."

Without much thought, Alfred's eyes widened and his hand slowly lowered the Italian man. He had a point, a _very _good point. The young man coughed and rubbed his neck where the fabric chaffed him, slight tremors running through his body. Alfred did _not_ kill his family. He refused to believe any of that. There was no plausible way! Looking back to the candy, he pulled back the wrappings and popped the deep indigo candy into his mouth. The bitter taste made him gag, he almost spat it back out. Oh the horrors of living! Couldn't they have a poison cured by sweet nectar or something! No, only whatever the hell was in his thing, and god how it made his stomach heave.

"Well newbie, you coming or not?" Lovino asked irritably.

"I'm coming."


	4. Dark Eyes

"_I have a very special assignment for you Mr. Vargas. You are one of our model prisoners, despite your little slipups here and there, but the Warden is so harsh. On that note, I apologize for that nasty scar you'll have," the Promoter smiled, looking entirely fake, but he said nothing. What could he say; this man had no authority above him. With that known, only this man could bridge the gap, the endless void, he needed to fill. At mention of his most recent wound, he grimaced in pain. The bandages wrapped around his torso were really all he needed now, until the stitches had to be cut out anyway._

"_I'll live. And call me Lovino, Mr. Vargas is my granddad," he muttered, looking around the room. It was the strangest place to be: the Promoter's room. Birds, everywhere, in cages and on stands, they seemed to know when to be quiet, not even a peep coming out of them. Along the walls were stuffed creatures, hawks and eagles. Some he believed were endangered, others, like the large bald eagle that was placed in the pose where the talons clung into the back of the chair and the powerful wings, frozen as though from out of a picture encircling around the Promoter's head. They were like devil horns curling around his head._

_The man with his vanilla hair chuckled giddily, "Of course. I have a small job for you to do, and I promise it'll pay nicely, and daily."_

"_Must be something dangerous, why else would you hire a criminal to do this and not one of your precious guards or call in someone else." He wouldn't talk about the pay. For one, Wonderland credits originated from this office, two, questioning how much the man was willing to give away might cause more issues for him later on._

_Spinning the swivel seat around and standing up, looking out the vast window that overlooked the entire park. Hands clasped gently behind his back as he gazed over the little ants that seemed to meander around the grounds, and then there were the colourful jumpsuits that showed off his prisoners. "It's a simple job really, but I need someone to blend into the scenery. To have a guard watching him all the time, it's a little too obvious."_

"_Eh? A babysitting job? I thought this was a prison, not a daycare," the Italian made a face, his hands on his hips as he looked away. An evil-eyed parrot watching him carefully from its perch, watching his every move, he could see the false eye in its one socket, a camera. That was rather . . . disturbing, tough founded since he was in here based on charges of thievery, though it was all purposeful. The Promoter behind the desk didn't need to know that though._

_The promoter looked back to him, those dark pupils like a black searchlight looking right through him, searching every crevasse of his being, even those he didn't know of himself. "Well, it's a very special job, dealing with a new prisoner. He's only a high school student, so he needs someone to help him out, someone on his side, you know? Also, he's very . . . special. I need someone not like our dear Katyusha, I need someone who can relate, even sooth him and his frayed nerves."_

"_Wouldn't a woman be better suited for a job like that?" Lovino spat. What did he look like, a mommy?_

"_I know about your previous relationships, despite your coarse nature. You have a rather good report with the other prisoners as well. Also, like I said, someone who can blend. Women have other cell block altogether."_

_Damn it. "Alright, I'll take your job."_

* * *

><p>Why had he ever taken this damn job? Walking beside the taller criminal, he watched him carefully. Alfred F. Jones, the renowned murderer who killed his entire family in cold blood, he believed himself innocent. Which was funny, because he didn't just claim innocence, he really, truly, <em>honestly<em> believed he didn't kill them. When Lovino had been held up by his collar, he could see something in those azure eyes. He had held him up with one arm like he was nothing, no strain, and no effort behind it. Alfred Jones was not innocent, he could just feel it. The boy was unpredictable and bitter with a strong grip and an aggressive side. He could kill a grown man, easy, if Lovino had anything to say about it. This _was_ a seventeen-year-old boy who just lifted a twenty-two-year-old man clean off his feet.

"Lovino," Alfred suddenly cut into his thoughts as they walked through the courtyard that was the center of their lives, having been heading back to the cells that they returned to nightly, "Why are you in here? You know about me, I know nothing about you."

The brunette looked up at the fading sky, the brilliant orange receding back as the violet encroached upon it, smothering the colours until it would all fade into black. "It's nothing big really, just some petty thievery that went on a few too many times for the courts to excuse. I'll be out of here in a year or two."

"Oh."

"And what do you plan to do?" Lovino asked, his hands shoved into his pockets that he had modified to be large enough to take in the large wrist cuffs that were used whenever a prisoner was caught doing something wrong. The Captain had caught him with his uncontrollable habit of pick-pocketing, which was actually why he had bandages crisscrossing his torso under the black T-shirt.

The blonde gazed steadily at his feet, not having looked up once from his feet. His hand was in his gray jumpsuit's pocket, his fingers mindlessly running over something in there, an object he must have smuggled into the prison, but obviously not lethal, or they would have taken it from him . . . at least he's hope so. "Dunno. Live, I guess. Try and prove myself innocent, though I have no clue how to go about that in here."

"I suggest you live with it for now. No clue who did it, right? So they're most likely out there and you're stuck in here. You have no memory of that night so that won't help you, but if you live long enough through here, collect the credits you need, which will take a long, _long_ time, and buy your freedom out."

"Yeah, I read something about that in the handbook," his blue eyes suddenly brightened.

Lovino watched him as they walked back to the cells and parted ways. He looked back over his shoulder at the retreating figure. There was something not right about the teen, something in his eyes. Something dark and wretched within those deep blue eyes.


	5. Sad Little Bird

_He stood in a black room, crimson waves lapping at his ankles and staining his pale skin with blood. It smelled of death, he felt as though this vast expanse was pushing him back, dragging him down. As he kept walking, he found himself sinking farther and farther inside this scarlet sea. It was becoming thicker, he couldn't tread the waves like he could water, and it was like walking through quicksand. Going back did nothing; the ocean was rising on its own, ready to encase him in blood and insanity. Panic welled up in him, gasping and trying to keep his head above the ever-rising tide._

'_N-no way,' he thought, struggling through the blood, 'I'm going to die here? B-but I didn't do it! Why must I be the one to drown in this insanity; suffer in this place!" He threw back his head, trying to breathe for as long as he could, his blonde hair dyed a glorious crimson. The waves grew increasingly more violent, tears pooling from his azure eyes._

"_Wretched little eagle, you have no right to cry~," a voice he was unfamiliar with sang. Instantly, the ocean became calm, balancing on his toes, he gasped pitifully for breath, eyes staring blankly into the dark. "Your wings have been clipped, you can't fly~. Spreading your misfortune to all around you~. Too ignorant to notice the pain you grew~. You once soared and touched the stars~. Now you're trapped behind gilded bars~. Falling into despair and insanity~. Little bird, little bird, come kill me~."_

_His heart beat was racing in his ears, where was that voice coming from?_

"_What are you doing down there Comrade?" the voice asked, his eyes widening, he still couldn't see who it was! Where were they? What were they talking about? He almost died here damn it!_

"_Who are you?" he gasped out feebly before realizing, that wasn't important, "Please . . . help me . . ."_

_Giggles met him in response, "I can't do that Comrade, or you'll never be able to learn. If I told you the answers, what's the point of the test? Silly boy."_

"_Wha-what?"_

"_Because you were anxious and afraid, it rose to where it is now; it grew turbulent due to you fighting against it. You are afraid of blood, which is rather amusing from where I stand." The speaker giggled once more._

_His blue eyes flashed in aggravation, "I'm not afraid of it!"_

"_Oh~? Then prove me wrong."_

_He wasn't afraid._

* * *

><p><strong>Blood surrounded him, their bodies cut up into bits. Matthew was held in his hands, the crimson pooling out of him, soaking his clothing.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>The scarlet ocean seemed to rise more, bordering at the courners of his eyes, he screwed them shut. He heard the childish laugh above him, whoever it was, they enjoyed his misery; their sides must have been splitting. He couldn't be afraid of blood! Blood was what all living things needed, right? So . . . so . . . he needed it too.<em>

"_Become one with your entire being, all the way down to the very cells coursing through you. You can feel them, can't you?"_

_No normal human could feel such a thing! At least, that's what he wanted to say, but before he could even begin to form the first syllable, he could feel something surrounding him. 'This must be that Ghost Hand feeling people get,' he thought vaguely. 'I need something solid to climb out . . .' The liquid that had been at the tips of his fingers virtually disappeared, leaving a solid step behind. Confusions washed over him in waves, but like hell would he question any random thing that occurred. 'This is just a dream . . .'_

_He crawled up, slowly, hesitating and fighting against gravity. Why did dreams even need gravity anyway! As he reached the surface, wherever his hands made contact, the crimson below seemed to scale over, making a small platform, unmoving, for him to rest. Breathing heavily, he collapsed, catching his breath. Hands behind him clapped enthusiastically, "Good job! You did well for a first time! Just remember, you'll need blood to use it."_

"_Use . . . what?" he panted, too tired to even move._

"_Stupid little bird," the voice cooed. That song, this person had sang that song, what did it mean? Why did he feel like he knew it from somewhere else, and why did it sound off? "I hope to see you soon little eagle. You never know, you may become pampered and fat in your domesticity. Though I highly doubt that," they giggled, "You are too much of a fighter, going against everything."_

_Struggling, attempting to turn around, but to weak to manage, like an invisible weight was encasing his body. He only managed to turn his head. In the red reflection, he could see a figure, their face mostly hidden. One eye was barely visible, glowing in the dark depths of the ocean of blood, a twisted smile stretching across their face. His heartbeat sped up. He had seen that face before!_

"_I'll be waiting for you, little eagle . . ."_

* * *

><p>He jolted awake, covered in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as tremors shook his body. Pulling his legs up to his chest, he buried his face in his knees and covered his head with his hands, one grasping the pair of glasses in a possessive grip.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Giggling, laughter, outright pleasure derived from his anguish.<strong>

"**Matthew!" he screamed, holding her brother tighter, as though he could keep life in him through his embrace. The blood pulled on the ground, in the reflection, a twisted smile gazed back.**

* * *

><p>"I'll kill you . . . I'll fucking kill you . . ." he whispered the promise over and over. The sun outside the barred window was beginning to rise, lightening the sky a drab grey. It was Friday; he could feel in his pulsing blood that something was going to happen.<p> 


	6. Announcement

Hello, you may have figured I must have died eons ago. No updates in over a year almost, nothing quite substantial. I apologize. Many of my stories are being discontinued for various reasons, mainly because my sense of literary refinement that has developed over time no longer allows me to continue due to their poor quality. Of this list includes:

_A House Divided_

_Loving It_

_Singing Through Bars_

_Song of the Century_

_Bewitched_

_The Cage_

_Not Like You_

_Fallen Heart_

* * *

><p>However, I have not quit. Over this extended period of absence, I have been outlining remakes of certain stories that deserve better andor more.

_Waving Flag_

_Don't Leave Me Here_

_In this Diary_

_One of Nothing_

_Code Geass_

Please be patient, I will soon have a first chapter out for my new work within the next month or two. I sincerely apologize. From now on, I will carefully plan works and not start too many that I cannot finish. Here are some peeks at the new, refined, mature style you will be getting soon.

* * *

><p><em>Dance Among the Loti <em>(Waving Flag Remake)

"Many things fade," he spoke in a near whisper, his voice heavy with weariness, as though he carried some invisible weight, "Youth, beauty, good friends, even memories. Eventually, even the fact that once we existed tapers off to a mere whimsy of a person glancing at a name upon a gravestone, realizing it means nothing to them."

* * *

><p><em>Crimson Tears of Lost Souls <em>(Don't Leave Me Here Remake)

Gunfire rained around me, seeming to bounce off the fog itself; it was thick enough, so I couldn't say I would have been surprised had that really been the case. It came from all sides, from out of the dismal gray, screams and distorted commands drowned out in the orchestra of explosions. Now and then, from the corner of my eye, I could just make out dark figures in the distance before they slipped just out of view. Sweat beaded under the helmet, rolling down my brow and the bridge of my nose, despite the chill of the bog. I made to swipe it as a figure appeared, this one staying. Rolling my shoulders, lifting the rifle that seemed to suddenly gain another twenty pounds, I took aim. Something was very wrong, he walked with a wide stance and appeared unarmed, shuffling right past me, seemingly more interested in something else, not even noting my existence. The second I tightened my hold around the trigger, a cold sense of dread filled me; I knew immediately I had made a terrible mistake.

* * *

><p>I hope you will come and see my new works as they come out and continue supporting me and them. I hope to entertain you on an entirely new level than the works you have seen so far. Thank you.<p> 


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